


Amaranthine

by theseatheseatheopensea



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Feminist Themes, Folklore, Gen, Inuit Character, Magic, Magical Realism, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Sea imagery, Sentient Nature, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-04
Updated: 2019-03-04
Packaged: 2019-11-09 10:07:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17999792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theseatheseatheopensea/pseuds/theseatheseatheopensea
Summary: She walks. And her steps mark the memories. They will be here. They will always be here. She will make sure of it.She carries the memories. She carries the world within.





	Amaranthine

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the imagery in the [Inuit folk tales](http://www.gutenberg.org/files/28932/28932-h/28932-h.htm) collected by Knud Rasmussen.

She sleeps in the cold ground. She dreams in memories, white and sharp.

There is a snow moon tonight, and she dreams of birds. The wind comes and the storm comes. And she dreams of old trouble, dark like deep, deep water. Like an unfading sun.

The moon is new. The moon is old. It blooms into red, sharp flowers. It knows, it knows.

And the cold seems to make a path that lasts forever. And they are gone. All of them. The loud, cruel ones. The sad ones. The silent ones. And the kind ones too, the ones who said _please_ and _thank you_ and _I'm sorry_ and _goodbye_. The honest ones who didn't try to hide the raw pain she saw in their eyes. Gone, gone.

She is alone again. Nothing has changed. Nothing should have changed. But it did. It does. They didn't belong here, she knows. They didn't belong, and now they are gone. Perhaps, all is as it should be. But it doesn't make it hurt any less. It doesn't make it right.

Are their souls in the water, deep down? Are they up there, high in the sky? She doesn't know. All she knows is her pain, and her tears become her prayer. In the twilight, her hands appear to be black, dark and infinite. In the sky, the first star looks down at her like a dream, and it listens. And she listens too, and she waits. She stays here, with the souls of the seal and the whale and the ice. She stays with the water. She stays with the shadows.

And the world changes. The sky becomes wider. The ice screams and the sea cries, and she needs to know. Why does it hurt? Why is she still here? Her heart is strong and raw, but it might not be enough.

But she will make it so. 

And she waits. She waits, under the mock sun. She keeps little stones in her pockets, little memories in her heart. And the world takes a deep, deep breath. The world runs free, free with the constant spirit of the snow.

She sings silently. Sometimes, the ghosts walk beside her. Sometimes they weep, but other times they laugh. And she is not afraid. This is the world, she thinks. This is _her_ world. And she laughs too.

There is something timeless about it. The raven is in the sky, soaring. It is white, white, white all around her. Here, in the farthest edge of the sky. She has no words to speak out loud to it, but she looks up, and it knows her. It knows her soul.

She carries the memories. She carries the world within.

Once again, she will go wandering. She will roam the universe with the fox and the hare, with the moon and the sun. Perhaps she will find them. Perhaps she will become a ghost too. Or perhaps she will become rain. She will become thunder, strangely amaranthine, like the long nights.

She is still under the green lights in the sky. And yes, she laughs. She throws her head back, and she laughs, she laughs with the stars. They know her too. And this is why she is here. Now, now, it is enough.

She walks. And her steps mark the memories. They will be here. They will always be here. She will make sure of it.

She walks, and her soul breathes along with the world. She will come back. She will remember. She will still be here, in this wide world, beneath the endless horizon, among all the secret names of the snow. In this perfect balance, she walks. She walks, together with the lights and the shadows and all the ghosts in the sky. She walks under the face of the moon, and the world hears her prayer. It sends her this gift. It comes down with the fog, to comfort her. It touches her soul, it cradles all the stars.


End file.
